


Love at First Bite

by PenguinofProse



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Lincoln and self-loathing, Vampires, also hospital AU, but good vampires, vampires in a hospital
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-14 12:28:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28920585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenguinofProse/pseuds/PenguinofProse
Summary: Written for 100 fics for BLM. In which Lincoln is a vampire, he meets Octavia, and the rest is history.
Relationships: Octavia Blake/Lincoln
Comments: 11
Kudos: 17
Collections: The t100 Writers for BLM Initiative





	Love at First Bite

**Author's Note:**

  * For [munequita](https://archiveofourown.org/users/munequita/gifts).



> Here's my first ever Linctavia-centric fic! This was written for 100 fics for BLM. I'm running out of prompts on my to-do list for the initiative, so maybe come find us on social media or check out the link below if you want to give me something to do! We've got Lincoln as a vampire, Octavia as a human, and you can probably guess where this is going. Huge thanks to Zou for betaing it. Happy reading!
> 
> Content notes: blood and implied violence. Being drugged in a similar context to canon.

Lincoln isn't only here for the blood.

He loves being a nurse, as it happens. He's heard his supervisor describe him as a gentle giant before now and he's all for healing people and helping them find some peace while they are in pain. A kind word, a dose of painkillers, a fluff of the pillows - these are all things that come naturally to him.

But the blood is convenient, of course. Working in the hospital, he can get regular access to the blood bank so long as he is careful and discreet about it. He only allows himself one bag a week - enough to keep him on form, but not enough to be missed.

Or so he hopes.

He tries to be discreet about his strength, too. He's a big guy so at least that accounts for it when he slips up a little and hefts a heavy load too easily. And he does all the other obvious things - filing down his teeth, wearing a hood pulled up on his way between the carpark and the building in daylight. In short, he takes care to avoid typical vampire problems as far as possible.

So it is that most of the problems he is left with are rather more _human_.

It's a struggle to be surrounded by death every day, for example. Once in a blue moon he admits defeat and turns someone - a patient who is too young and full of life for Lincoln to stand back and watch them die. He struggles, too, with the more petty things, like demanding bosses and heavy workloads.

And right now? Right now he's struggling with the most human problem of all.

He doesn't believe in love at first sight. Of course he doesn't - he didn't make it to three hundred and twenty seven by being a total fool. But as he's queuing for coffee this morning he finds himself rather struck by an attractive brunette in the line in front of him.

Damn it. He doesn't even like coffee, for goodness' sake. He's a _vampire_. He's supposed to drink blood, not coffee. It's not that it's abhorrent to him, exactly, just that it doesn't taste like food. It reminds him of when he was a kid, centuries ago, and sometimes he would eat grass on a dare or something, just to prove he could. And yet he stands in line for coffee every morning because he knows this is all part of the routine of appearing human.

He tries not to stare at the young woman, as she takes her coffee and steps aside. In his experience, hungry staring is a bit of a giveaway that one is a vampire. And he's feeling hungry in more ways than one as he gazes at this stranger - he wants to smell her and touch her and hold her close, every bit as much as he wants to bite her.

She spins around, and it gets worse. She's not just pretty. She's lively in a way that defies description, somehow, with laughter in her eyes as she chats quietly to the friend she is standing in line with.

He's being stupid. He doesn't even know this woman. Just because she's hot and spirited and he can smell the scent of her from here doesn't mean he needs to lose his mind.

She's leaving, now. She's heading for the door, walking past him as she -

"Hey." He hears the word come out of his mouth even before he makes the conscious decision to speak.

She nods at him, gives half a smile. That's pretty generous, he thinks - he's a total stranger who just barked a greeting at her in a coffee shop. He thinks a half smile is more than he deserves.

He watches her too carefully, as she leaves. She's dressed in the uniform of a physiotherapist, as is the friend she walks with. Would it be crazy if he walked through the physiotherapy department on the way to his car tonight?

Yes. Yes it would. That's on the other side of the damn building, and he needs to get a grip.

….

Lincoln gets coffee the next morning. Of course he does - a daily morning coffee is part of his carefully constructed cover, remember? But it is perhaps worthy of note that he gets his coffee at exactly the same time as he got it the previous morning. He times it almost to the second.

He thinks that's a logical move, see. Physiotherapists have regular hours and set appointments, don't they? So there's a good chance that his intriguing brunette will be here this morning.

And if it means that he's here half an hour earlier than he needs to be? That's not so very crazy, he hopes.

His luck is better than he dared to hope. She's here, once again, and this time without the friend. Should he speak to her? Or would it come across as creepy, to accost her? He knows he's a big guy, with a shaven head and a good selection of tattoos. Often people are intimidated when they first meet him, for all that he is a nurse.

He decides to try taking a leaf from her book. When she walks in front of him, he offers her a half smile.

"Hey." She says lightly. "You were here yesterday, weren't you?"

He nods, allows himself a slightly wider smile. "Yeah. Did you enjoy your coffee?"

"Coffee's coffee to me." She says, laughing lightly. "What about you? Into all this chai latte crap?"

He laughs. He was right, see? She _is_ lively and interesting. He didn't just make that up to justify this tug of attraction.

"No. Coffee's coffee." He agrees.

She nods. "Well, nice to meet you. But I have to get going. Don't want to be late on my second day." She says in a conspiratorial tone.

"Welcome to Polis General." He says, because that seems like the thing to say. "My name's Lincoln, by the way."

She gives him a considering sort of look, holds her hand outstretched towards him. "I'm Octavia."

Crap. He has to touch her, now. He can't reject her handshake without looking incredibly rude. But he's not sure he has the self control to take her hand without betraying his desire.

He takes a calming breath. He thinks of times he has felt hungry, and weak, but has refused to give into the desire to drink. He can do this. He has faced worse challenges to his control before now.

He reaches out to take her hand, shakes it with as much detachment as he can muster. Octavia. It's an intriguing name, he thinks, for an intriguing young woman.

….

She's there again the next day. He asks a few unobjectionable questions about how she's settling in, and yet she manages to make her answers actually interesting.

The day after that she shows him a funny text from her brother. The morning that follows, they chat about their shared interest in boxing.

You see? He was right, when he fell in love with her at first sight. He was right to know that they were meant to be together.

Right. Yes. This might be getting a little out of hand. The point is, Octavia is a pretty cool woman.

…

Lincoln isn't surprised when he arrives at work the next morning to find Octavia standing next to his locker and holding two cups of coffee. He's scarcely spoken to her a handful of times, but already he knows she is a woman who goes after what she wants.

And apparently she wants him? That's both beautiful and terrifying, he decides.

He's a little surprised at the sentence she greets him with, though.

"We're going out tonight." She informs him, as if it's just a fact.

Oh god. Going out tonight means a date. And dates mean food and sex and all manner of human things that are going to make the situation awkward for him. And _attachment_ , which now he comes to think of it he should probably be avoiding. There's no way he's ever going to maintain his cover around a girlfriend.

But damn it, he really does like her.

It's just sensible to say yes, he tells himself. Saying yes is the predictable human response. She'd be even more suspicious if the guy who has chatted with her over coffee all week were to suddenly turn her down.

"OK. Where are we going?" He asks. Please not burgers. He's terrible at pretending to enjoy burgers.

"There's this kickboxing club on third street. I've been wanting to try it for ages and they have a beginners session tonight. You in?"

He's in. He's in deeper than he's ever been in his afterlife, he fears.

….

Kickboxing with Octavia is great. Of course it is. And yeah, sure, it's a little nerve-wracking because he has to be permanently on his guard that he doesn't accidentally kick a hole in someone and let on that he's got superhuman strength. But Octavia seems to be having a great time, blending fierceness and laughter, and Lincoln himself can't remember the last time he had this much fun. He likes being a nurse, and he gets on well with his colleagues. But it's been a long time since he's permitted himself just to have a good time with someone he gets on with so effortlessly.

But then the session is over, and he wonders what happens next. He and Octavia are standing at the door of the gym, and he really doesn't want them to go their separate ways, but he knows he simply cannot invite her home. There's no way he can take her to bed - he would seriously struggle to hide the truth from her, he fears. In fact, he's not even sure he has enough control to keep her _safe_.

"You want to take a walk?" Octavia asks. "I need you to show me the sights."

He nods. It's not a great excuse - it's dark and drizzling lightly. But he knows she only just moved here for this job and doesn't know her way around yet, and anyway, he's not about to say no to an invitation to safely spend time with her.

They start walking. Lincoln gestures to Octavia to take the next crossing. He's about to start speaking - some compliment about how well she smashed that kickboxing class, probably - when she beats him to it.

"You're a vampire." She says, totally matter of fact.

He gasps. She's maddening, this woman. How can anyone look so sweet and good-humoured but be so utterly brave and forthright? It's like that moment when she outright told him they had a date - only a thousand times more frightening.

He doesn't bother denying it, because he knows she wouldn't believe him. He doesn't bother reassuring her that she's safe with him, because frankly he's fast losing confidence that it would be true.

"How do you know?" He asks instead.

"Jasper told me." She says, with a shrug, as if learning that she's going on a date with a vampire is just an everyday occurrence.

Lincoln swallows stickily. He turned Jasper a couple of years ago - a good kid, and not ready to die.

"How did that come up in conversation?" He asks thickly.

Again, Octavia seems totally unfazed. "I was going on about this guy I'd started chatting with over coffee and thought I might ask out." She says, with a teasing quirk to her brow. "I mentioned your name and Jasper said he thought he knew you. And here we are."

"Here we are." Lincoln echoes, shocked.

He doesn't know what to say, now. Octavia doesn't seem scared or alarmed or anything - that isn't her style. Should he apologise? Mostly that's what he finds himself doing, if people find out the truth about him.

"I'm sorry." He mutters, eyes on the ground. "I'm not going to hurt you."

She actually laughs. "I know you're not. I've never met a gentler guy in my life - or at least, not a gentler guy who loves boxing." She jokes. "It doesn't bother me at all. I just thought we should get it out in the open between us. I didn't want you to spend all the time we're together worrying about having a dark secret or whatever."

He swallows. She just wanted to clear the air. She doesn't want him to feel uncomfortable or secretive. What the hell did he do to get as lucky as this? He's a monster, and last time he checked, monsters don't get lucky breaks.

But he _wants_ to be a guy who gets lucky breaks. He wants it so badly. That's why he keeps walking with her, keeps laughing with her, keeps flirting with her. They wander the streets for the best part of an hour, just chatting and getting to know one another.

At length, Lincoln finds that he has led them back to where they started - the street outside the gym. He's not quite sure why he chose that. Maybe because he doesn't want to bore Octavia by dragging out the evening if she's not enjoying herself - although, as far as he can tell, she does seem to be having a good time.

"How did you get here?" He asks. "Can I walk you to the station or something?"

She hesitates, just a moment. The first hesitation in all the time they have talked. "You could come back to my place." She suggests, sounding almost nervous.

"I shouldn't." He says at once. But he tries to say it kindly, because he doesn't want her to think this is any reflection on her.

"Why? Because you don't put out on the first date?" She asks, trying for her usual bright tone.

"Because I'm a vampire." He mutters, self-conscious.

"We've already discussed this - that doesn't scare me." She declares.

And then, as if to prove her point, she kisses him. She's a lot shorter than him, so it takes a lot of determination on her part, he notes. She really has to stand on tiptoes and wrap her arms around his neck to make it work. She kisses him almost _fiercely_ in that there's a confidence and sense of resolution to it, as if she's trying to show him just how little she fears him. And yet at the same time, her lips are soft, and the hand cupping the back of his head is tender, and it's so long since someone has touched him gently like that, it makes him want to cry.

So it is that his resolve crumples and he invites her into his home.

….

It is odd seeing Octavia in his apartment.

It is not that his apartment screams _vampire_ , but he knows it does not look authentically human. He has a kitchen, for example, because human apartments have kitchens. But he is aware that it looks too clean and little used to be convincing.

Maybe he should invite Octavia to come over and bake butterfly cupcakes in it sometimes.

So, yes, he doesn't have bloodstained drinking goblets or a selection of Dracula-style capes. But he does have thick curtains, too little crockery, and a suspiciously neatly-made bed.

Octavia, of course, is fascinated. Curiosity is another one of the things he finds attractive about her. That's a list which is growing rather long, as it happens.

"Do you sleep?" She asks, frowning at the pristine bedsheets.

"Not really." He says, shrugging. "Sometimes I like to read lying down or close my eyes and do a little meditation. But I don't sleep like - like you."

She frowns. "Does that mean I have to take an uber home once we've done the deed?" She asks, half teasing, half worried.

He splutters out a shocked laugh. He should have known, already, that she is bold enough to jump straight to that question. "No. Definitely not. Just because I can't sleep doesn't mean I don't like to cuddle." He admits, feeling a little foolish. He's used to feeling strong, damn it. He's a vampire, for starters, and he knows that he's strong even compared to the rest of his kind. But something about this woman makes him totally weak at the knees.

Octavia seems satisfied. She nods, resolute, a slight twinkle of cheeky humour in her eyes.

Then she steps forward and kisses him again.

It's a good kiss - more heated than the one they shared outside the gym but still with an implicit tenderness that makes his hands tremble. He feels like there should be soft violin music playing in the background, or something. It feels, in short, far too romantic for a scene in the life of a bloodthirsty beast.

As they keep kissing, they begin undressing. Lincoln is careful to wait for Octavia to start it. She's said what she wants, here, but he has to be sure she's still on board. He wouldn't blame her if she took fright and fled half way through. But once she has his shirt off, he takes that for permission to start undressing her in turn. He's careful while he does so. Not just careful not to get her collar stuck around her ears, but careful with what he gives himself permission to do. He can kiss her lips or the tops of her breasts without being too tempted. But he knows it would be dangerous to kiss her neck or even the inside of her wrists. He can't let his teeth stray too near any major arteries when he's already losing control through pleasure.

That's why he takes the lead a little more, once they're both naked and eager. He walks her back towards his bed, lies himself flat on his back.

"You want to get on top?" He asks.

She nods. "If that's what you want?"

It is what he wants. He thinks she'll look gorgeous up there, riding him. He thinks she's got the spirit and fire to do a good job of it, too. But more than anything he thinks she'll be safe there, far away from his teeth once his mind is hazy with pleasure.

She straddles him, eases down onto the length of his cock. She's not a big woman but she takes him without complaint, her lithe thighs stretched wide as she gets comfortable above his hips. And then she starts moving, rocking up and down along the length of him, hair falling around her pert, bouncing breasts.

It feels so good he almost falls apart on the spot. It's been so damn long since he's had anything like this in his life. He's become very well acquainted with his own hand, since he was turned. Sometimes, in the early days, he would have a safe and anonymous casual hookup with someone. Once in a while he will let off some steam with a fellow vampire. But it's quite literally centuries since he had the beautifully human experience of making love to a date he actually really likes.

Octavia seems fascinated by his chest. She's tracing her nails over his pecs, now pausing to squeeze at his shoulder for a while instead. It's flattering, honestly. And now she's getting more excited, throwing her head back as she rides him a little faster.

He allows himself a small, safe treat. He reaches out for her breasts and fondles them lightly. She reacts with a breathy gasp, with leaning her chest further forward into his hands in a silent demand for more.

Well, then. He can't disappoint her. He squeezes her breasts a little harder, tweaks at her nipples. The moans she gives in response are doing dangerous things to his sanity, here. She's reminding him that this is real, that she's Octavia, and that she is honestly the best thing that's happened to him in lifetimes.

She comes first, but only just. He's right behind her, spilling inside of her even as she's still clenching around him. There's something about the sight of her face screwed up in pleasure that he thinks he'll remember till the end of his days - and given he's immortal, more or less, that's likely to be a very long time.

"You OK?" He asks her, when the moment seems right to start speaking again.

"Great." She grins brightly. "You?"

"Yeah." He swallows. "That was my first time in a while. Hope it wasn't too awful."

"It was perfect." She assures him easily. "Have you seen your shoulders? You're kind of insanely hot."

"Can't really look in the mirror." He deadpans.

She laughs, swings herself off his hips and curls into his side instead. He's not sure what to do, now. He's getting the impression that she just wants to fall asleep with him, and he meant it, earlier, when he said he would gladly cuddle her - he'll quite happily hold her close all night. But he feels the need to do something else, first. To say the right words to mark this occasion and check that he's not kidding himself by hoping this has a future.

"Thanks, Octavia. I had a great time tonight." It's probably the most unimaginative thing he could say right now, but he's not sure he has any right to say more. He doesn't want her to feel obligated to a monster.

"Me too. We're signing up for those kickboxing classes, right? Are we going for the six week course or the twelve week?"

He laughs. Typical Octavia. He's trying to define their relationship and she's been distracted by their kickboxing schedule.

"Let's go twelve." He says. That increases the odds of her putting up with him a bit longer, right? "Are we - making this a regular thing?" He asks tentatively.

"I sure hope so." She rolls onto her side, suddenly serious, and looks him right in the eyes. "I really like you, Lincoln. I've spent my whole life attracted to guys who look like you - big guys with tattoos, the type I can chat about sports with and my brother wouldn't want me to bring home. There's probably something deep going on there, huh? So when I saw you checking me out that day in line I thought _he's my type_." She pauses, and he wonders where this is going. "Thank you for proving me wrong. Thanks for showing me that I didn't want some _bad boy_ at all. I wanted a guy I can chat sports with - and who might piss my brother off - but who has a heart of gold."

He honestly cannot breathe, for fully five seconds. He lies there, totally taken aback.

He can't believe she really sees him that way. He's a monster, and he knows he looks the part, too. Everyone judges by appearances, in his experience. People mostly laugh when they find out he's a nurse, as if it's some kind of joke that a guy like him could heal people for a living. Sure, he's a good nurse, and the people that work closely with him do swear that he's gentle and kind. Sometimes that is enough to soothe his soul and hold back his self-loathing, just for a few seconds.

But tonight, listening to Octavia, he almost _likes_ himself. For the first time since he was turned, he can see a shadow of what she sees in him.

"Thanks, Octavia." He swallows, tries again. She deserves more eloquence from him than that, in this moment. "I really like you, too. So much it scares me - I don't feel like I should be allowed to like you. But thank you for being kind and optimistic enough to see the best in me, and brave enough to keep seeing it even when you found out what I am."

" _What_ you are doesn't matter. I'm more interested in _who_ you are." She tells him firmly.

It's a long, sleepless night. But it turns out to be long and sleepless in the best possible way, with Octavia warm in his arms and her fierce words echoing through his head.

….

The thing about whirlwind romances, as far as Lincoln understands it, is that they are not supposed to last. And yet his relationship with Octavia endures, however suddenly it might have started. There is a steadiness to it, a straightforward sense of compatibility between them. It's not that they never argue, of course, and they are certainly always challenging each other to do better. But it is, in short, a very functional relationship.

It seems like he had good instincts to fall for her in the first place.

The first major obstacle comes three months in, when Octavia has a suggestion to make.

"We should think about moving in together. There's no sense in us both paying rent when we spend almost every evening together anyway." She argues.

All at once, Lincoln shakes his head. "No. I'm sorry. We can't - I couldn't live with - with a human. You need to have your own place. Somewhere you can run if - if I lose control."

She frowns. "Lincoln. It's been three months and you've never been anywhere near losing control around me."

He doesn't answer that one. The reason she hasn't seen him lose control is because he has been so careful to avoid challenging, tempting situations. But he can't promise he will be so successful, every hour of every day, if she moves in with him.

She sighs loudly. "Do you ever think this would be so much simpler if you just turned me?"

"I can't do that." He bites out.

"You could. It would make things so much easier."

"I cannot turn you into a monster for the rest of your days."

"Stop calling the man I love a monster." She snaps, sharp. "You're not a monster at all. And you know we're good together - would it really be such a hardship to be together forever?"

He swallows. He doesn't bother pointing out that three months, however intense, are hardly a good foundation for eternity. He doesn't remind her, either, that he is a monster in the eyes of the world even if she thinks differently.

Instead he goes for the truth.

"It's not just the… logistics." He argues. "It's not about whether we're good together or whether we can move in. I had a hard life before I met you, Octavia. I _still_ have a hard life in ways I try to hide from you. Breaking the law and stealing donated blood just to survive? Hiding what I am every day of my life? I've been _hunted_." He pauses, draws in a heaving breath. "I have been hunted by people who think that creatures like me are abominations who deserve to die. It's happened so much that for some years, soon after I turned, I started to think they were right."

She doesn't speak. She still looks set for an argument, and he's frustrated with her for that. He loves her hugely, but she doesn't seem to be seeing this from his point of view and it hurts.

"It is not as easy as biting your neck and putting your name on the lease." He concludes firmly. "You're asking me to overlook all the battles I have had to fight in the last three hundred years, and they're battles I wouldn't wish on the woman I love."

She softens, just slightly. She nods sharply. She crosses the distance between them, tentatively pulls him in for a long, gentle hug.

"I'm sorry. I can be a little self-centred at times." She admits, evidently finding the words difficult to say. "I didn't think of all that."

He smiles sadly. That's Octavia - she gets overexcited and presses on from her own point of view rather than considering every angle. And he loves her all the same, tolerates that because it's the flipside of the coin that makes her so enthusiastic in kickboxing classes, so buoyant when she bakes butterfly cakes in his kitchen.

But that's OK. No one's perfect, and he's lucky that he and Octavia are perfectly imperfect for each other.

….

Lincoln thinks about the question of Octavia moving in a lot, in the days that follow. He knows the idea is insane, that it's important she should have a safe space to run to. But he wants it, damn it. Since Octavia walked into his life he's started daring to believe that he might deserve a little happiness in his life, once in a while. That it's not his fault he was turned. Sure, he still bears the guilt of all the things he did in his early days, before he learnt the art of self control. But the point is, he's starting to believe that, for a monster, he might not be totally beyond redemption.

He sets himself little tests and challenges. That's his way of proving to himself he's ready to live with Octavia and keep her safe. He starts fasting an extra day or two between portions of blood, to show himself that he can resist the urge to bite her even when he's hungry. One time he even takes her with him when he's getting his weekly drink, and it feels odd and kind of intimate to have her there watching, but again, he proves that he can keep her safe even when his control is being stretched.

Tonight it's time for the biggest test of all.

They're lying naked in bed together, hands roaming, lips busy. But tonight Lincoln pulls away from the kiss, trails his lips down Octavia's cheek and the curve of her neck.

"You're OK." She assures him, as if reading his mind. "I trust you."

Right on the softest part of her neck, he pauses. He latches on with his lips, sucks a mark into her precious skin. And then he stops right there, leaves her with a safe, red, human hickey right over her jugular.

He's never been so proud of himself in his life.

Things move quickly, after that. He can feel Octavia's urgency, the gasp she gives when he leaves the mark, the way she presses his head close to her chest for a second while she regains her breath. But then he's pulling away, flipping her onto her back and thrusting inside of her, and she's wrapping her legs around him with a groan.

It doesn't last long. He comes first, an unusual moment of selfish poor timing - or so he fears. But before he can fall too deep into self-loathing she's there too, digging her heels right into his butt as she clenches around his still half-hard cock.

He buries his face in her neck when it is over. He presses gentle lips to that hickey in the softest of kisses.

Octavia moves into his apartment three days later.

….

There is a challenge to their domestic bliss, one month in. Lincoln's blood supply runs out. They change up the security around the hospital so he can no longer slip into the bloodbank and quench his thirst.

He knows there are other solutions. He could go find a blood den, for starters. But he's always found those institutions pretty shady and he doesn't really know where to start. He'd have to do some serious research to find a reputable option.

Octavia has a different solution to suggest. And of course, being Octavia, she comes right out and says it.

"You could just take a pint from me." She says, shrugging. "We both know you'd stop. You love me and your control around me is perfect. I'd rather you take a drink from me than go find a blood den."

"That's not a long term solution." He mutters, because focusing on that feels safer than focusing on the thrill he cannot entirely repress at her suggestion.

"No. It doesn't need to be." She points out. "You're a nurse and I'm a physio. We can move and find another hospital somewhere else with lax security. We can look into safe blood dens. We can do anything. But you can't do much while you're weak and hungry, so just take a drink and have done." She sticks her neck out towards him and everything.

He frowns, bites his lip. He bites his lip a little too hard and tastes his own undead blood. Disgusting. Even filed, these fangs are dangerously sharp.

No way can he take them near Octavia's precious neck.

….

He admits defeat two weeks later. This is the longest he has gone without drinking in his whole entire afterlife, and he's simply exhausted. He feels weak and pathetic and, in this moment, he cannot even drag himself out of bed to get into work.

Octavia strokes his forehead and smiles sadly down at him.

"I know how important your work is to you. So are you going to take a drink now?" She asks robustly.

He nods weakly. He can barely lift his head. It occurs to him that he's really feeling far too pathetic to be certain he will have the strength to stop, when he's had his pint.

"It's OK, Lincoln." She murmurs, stroking his cheeks now and sounding tearful. "You're OK. I love you, and this is nothing to be ashamed of."

He can't even tell her he loves her. He can scarcely _breathe_. If he doesn't drink soon he's going to be trapped in this undead limbo forever.

She doesn't offer him her neck, this time. His Octavia is smart as well as brave. Realising how weak he is, she simply presses the inside of her wrist against his lips.

He hates himself. He's never hated himself so much in his life. He's about to drink the lifeblood of the woman he loves because he couldn't figure out a better solution. And even as he hates himself for that, he hates himself even more for wanting to. For being tempted by the softness of her skin and the scent of blood roaring through her delicate veins.

He bites down, hears her give a little gasp. His eyes flicker tiredly to her face, wondering whether he's hurt her. But she's smiling slightly at him, still pressing her wrist to his lips, so he starts to drink.

He takes two careful gulps, then forces himself to stop and reassess. Octavia is still healthy. He can already feel some strength returning to him. He spends his precious newfound energy on reaching up to hold her hand, cradling her wrist as he drinks.

He takes a couple more mouthfuls. He should probably stop soon. The crisis has been solved. He could make it into work in this state, if he had to. He would have a miserable day, but he'd manage.

As if reading his thoughts, Octavia speaks up.

"I know you hate this. But I want you to take a pint. That's what I'd give if I went to donate blood in a more… conventional way. You can take that much safely, and you know it. And that will keep you healthy for a while. I trust you to judge how big your normal meal is."

He considers it. His initial impulse is to reject the idea entirely. But she's right - it's perfectly safe and healthy for her.

As long as he can make himself stop.

He can. He's feeling confident about that, actually. If he was going to go crazy and gorge himself, he'd have done it by now. He'd have started gulping down her blood right from the start when he felt so weak and didn't have the energy to exercise his usual self-control.

But as it is, this has been easy. He's proven to himself that he loves Octavia far more than he loves the taste of blood. And frankly he thinks that's pretty impressive when he's scarcely known her five months.

He nods up at her, takes the pint slowly and carefully, holding her hand all the while. And when he is done he simply pulls away, and presses a kiss to the wound on her wrist which is already healing. The supernatural forces messing with his life do have some few advantages, he muses. At least she's now in no danger of bleeding to death.

It's the strangest thing, but he feels better about himself in this moment than he has felt in all the years since he was turned. He always thought he'd feel guilty if ever he admitted defeat and took a drink from Octavia. And yes, sure, he is angry with himself for finding no other solution. But above all he's proud of himself for how calmly and confidently he managed that, how firmly he was able to put his faith in her and in himself.

They're better together - she a little more serious and controlled, he a lot more confident and happy.

He really did get lucky, that day in the line for coffee.

….

It's his own fault, when he gets captured. That's always the way. The hunters don't catch a vampire unless their victim makes a mistake, in his experience. And he's made many mistakes this year - falling in love has turned him soft, perhaps, his happiness stripping away the fear he used to depend on to keep him sharp. More than anything, he's made mistakes this month. He's weak from hunger again, and has been spending recent days wondering whether to risk a blood den or try another meal with Octavia. So it is that, when a pair of strangers hold him down, he simply cannot shake them off. All his usual strength and past experience and recent kickboxing is for nothing.

He wonders how they found him. Spying on his search history, noting his recent obsession with blood den research? Have they already caught and killed a friend of his? Or were he and Octavia simply talking too loudly with the window open, one day?

"You weren't home." One of his captors - a pale man with a sour face - chides him. "We went looking for you and only found your toy."

 _His toy_. He gulps. This disgusting man means Octavia, doesn't he?

"What did you do? I swear if you hurt her -"

"You'll do what? Bite me?" The man asks, evidently well pleased with his own feeble joke.

Lincoln frets, tugs at his wrists. He thought these guys were amateurs, when he first was captured. He thought he'd be out of here in no time - he's faced worse, before now. But he's weaker than usual, and they're talking as if they've hurt Octavia, and he can feel the situation spiralling away from him.

"Shut up, Cage." The other captor - a woman in a lab coat of all things - snaps.

"Sorry, Dr Tsing." The man called Cage apologises with feigned politeness. Lincoln wonders whether there is something here he can use, some weakness. If these two colleagues do not actually like or respect each other, perhaps he can break them?

He doesn't get a chance to figure that out. Dr Tsing is advancing towards him, a syringe filled with something red outstretched in her hand. Damn it - maybe these people really do know what they're doing. What on Earth is in that needle?

Whatever it is, it's strong. He feels it kick in right away, stealing some of the coordination from his limbs and the control from his brain. It's a little like feeling drunk, as far as he remembers that from his life as a human. Now he's a vampire, stripping away his inhibitions makes him feel more violent urges, too. But primarily it seems like a drug designed to leave him dozy and sluggish, and in that sense it certainly reminds him of alcohol.

He wants to lash out at these two people, more than ever, and yet he simply does not have the strength to do so.

….

Time moves strangely, while he sits in captivity. He doesn't understand what Tsing and Cage are waiting for. Is their wooden stake salesperson running late? Are they hoping it will rain silver bullets tonight?

Or do they have some worse fate in mind for him even than death?

He's been there minutes or hours or days when he gets his chance. The door left open, the sound of voices disappearing down the hall. And he wonders, just for a moment, whether it is a trap. Even hazy and drugged he knows that is a possibility.

To hell with it. That's what he decides. Head spinning, heart thumping, thoughts swimming, he makes a break for the open door and jumps clean out the nearest window.

….

He doesn't know how he makes it home. Those drugs are really messing with his head. He knocks on his own front door, gets no answer. In his sorry state, he ends up kicking the door down. At least he still has the strength for that - but barely.

Kickboxing. That's something that's important to him, only he can't remember why.

He stumbles through the door. There's blood everywhere. So much blood. He presses his face to the floor, laps it up shamelessly. He feels a little of his strength return, but none of his sanity.

More blood. A trail. Where does the trail lead?

Octavia. That's Octavia. He loves her, doesn't he? Has he remembered that right?

He should call an ambulance. Get her to the ER. At least check she's breathing.

He goes back to lapping at her spilled blood.

….

Lincoln wakes up slowly. It's an interesting experience, because he hasn't slept in three centuries. He genuinely didn't believe he was capable of it. So how the hell has this happened?

His house smells like human blood. It makes him feel sick, honestly. That kind of nausea that comes with smelling a large, rich meal when you're already stuffed full.

Hang on. Why the hell isn't he feeling hungry?

He finds his answer when he turns his head. He sees Octavia next to him on the bed, leaning up on her elbow and smiling softly down at him. And he knows, at once and with utter certainty, that he has turned her.

He's never going to forgive himself for this.

"What happened?" He asks quietly. He clears his throat, tries again. "What the hell happened?"

"Two hunters came looking for you. They found me and beat me up pretty bad. Looks like they found you too. But I'm OK, you turned me. I'm safe."

He snorts. _You turned me_ and _I'm safe_ are statements that cannot and should not coexist, he's certain of it.

"I was drugged." He remembers. "They drugged me. Made me less… human."

"Yeah. You didn't seem your usual self. And then you slept. I think that must have been it - a drug designed to knock out even a vampire."

"You knew I was drugged?" He asks sharply. "You knew it and you let me turn you anyway? You've been wanting me to turn you since that conversation the other month and - what - you took advantage of the drugs?"

She looks at him as if he's lost his mind. "I didn't do anything like that, Lincoln. I was half dead. You _saved_ me."

"No." He insists. "Saving you would have been taking you to the ER. I - I _condemned_ you. I'm sorry for blaming you. I'm so sorry. I just -" He breaks off, breathing heavily, trying very hard not to cry.

"You're angry with yourself and lashing out." Octavia provides quietly.

He nods stiffly, wordlessly.

"I think that's my role round here, babe." She teases with exaggerated sweetness. It's unexpected, and yet somehow it works. It has him glancing up at her, forces him to take stock of how happy and healthy she looks.

He smiles cautiously.

"We can't sit around and argue about this." She decides briskly, sitting up in bed. "You're stuck with me now - and I'm happy about that, because we love each other." She reminds him. "Or at least we do when you're not upset and guilty and confused and coming down off some horrific drug. So let's put a pin in this and get out of here before those two come back for us. You know, the hunters. The real monsters."

His smile grows wider. This is what Octavia does. She inspires him and challenges him, gives him hope that the world can be a brighter place. She's making him focus not on the dangerous hunters on their trail but on the hope of a happy future with her.

"You sure you want to come with me? You want to leave your home?" He checks. "It'll be dangerous. They don't know I turned you. They'd probably leave you alone. And - it might be tricky to keep in touch with your brother."

She snorts. "Of course I'm coming with you. You are my home, Lincoln. I think you've been my home almost since the moment you first gawked at me in the Polis General coffee shop."

He doesn't argue any further. He packs a small bag, takes her hand, strides out into the street. He leaves Polis with nothing but a spare change of clothes on his back and the love of his afterlife at his side.

It's time for a new chapter of eternity to begin.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
